


while the man you love bites stories into someone else's back

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title from "The Bar Closes (But You Don’t Want to Go Home)" by Aaron Smith</p></blockquote>





	while the man you love bites stories into someone else's back

_Nashville's a nice medium between New York and LA,_ Bill said in his radio interview. When he gets back from Chicago, Mike Googles a map of the US for him and points out the obvious.

"Not even close, actually."

"Shut up," Bill mutters, laying back across the bed and stretches slowly. Mike can hear the slow pop of his shoulders and his spine.

"Chicago's more in-between than Nashville is."

"I didn't say it was in-between. I said it was a nice medium."

"So not geographically?"

"No, you moron."

"Culturally."

"Yeah."

"That's not true either."

"Shut _up_."

Mike grins to himself and clicks back to Google proper. They need something good delivered for dinner. "Why didn't you tell them the truth?"

"And what perverse version of the truth might you mean?"

Mike shrugs and clicks, scanning through the delivery options around their Extended Stay America. "Your whole theory about neutral ground."

"Yeah, excuse me for not wanting you and Gabe to be going after each other like dogs."

"We've never--"

" _Really_?"

"That didn't have anything to do with _you_ , you egotist."

"I remember it differently."

"You remember it wrong."

Bill sighs heavily and rolls onto his stomach, squinting through his hair at the alarm clock. "When is he going to wake up, anyway?"

Mike glances toward the door into the little living room area, where Gabe is crashed out on the couch like a crashed thing. "He's sleeping off a flight and recording. Who knows?"

"Hmm." Bill drags his hair back off his forehead and pats the mattress beside him. "Come over here."

"I'm finding us something for dinner."

"Gabe won't be hungry." Mike shoots him a look over the top of the screen and Bill wrinkles his nose. "Fine, whatever."

"You and Gabe can cuddle and talk about philosophy or whatever pretentious bullshit. I'm going to want food."

"Yes, yes. Your caveman routine is perfect, Santi."

Mike clicks a few more times, finding a menu that looks acceptable and leaving it open in a tab. He sits back in his chair, letting his knees splay apart, and watches Bill dance his fingertips across the sheets.

"You sure you don't want me to go? Let you guys catch up or whatever?"

Bill huffs softly, blowing the ends of his hair out of his eyes. "Don't be stupid."

"I'm just putting it out there. Making an offer."

"We've been over this."

They have. Over and over again. Bill occupies a hungry little world where he needs more than most people get--more partners, more attention, more love--and somehow it's also a charmed little world where he _gets_ all of those things. Somebody up there likes Bill. And multiple somebodies down here. Fucker.

"Get over here already."

"You're such a pain in the ass." Mike pushes his chair back and crosses over to the bed, looking down at him. "Here I am."

Bill reaches up, slow and lazy stretch of stupid long limbs. His fingers twist in the front of Mike's t-shirt, gathering the worn-out fabric at the center of his chest and pulling him down to the mattress. Mike gasps a little in surprise, then lets his weight settle against Bill's body, holding him down. "Now what, genius?"

Bill twists underneath him, testing more than struggling. "Take a wild guess."

Mike slides his hand up Bill's chest, the pale line of his throat, the sharp curve of his jaw, finally stopping when his fingers tangle in Bill's hair. He yanks back and Bill goes easily, looking up at him in a smug grin.

"You're impossible." Mike shifts off him, rising to his knees and pulling at Bill's hair until he crawls forward. "Get off the bed," Mike prompts, yanking one more time before letting go.

"On my knees?" Bill's smirking now, cocky like what he is, the guy who always gets what he wants.

"Yeah," Mike says, his stomach tightening with familiar heat as Bill obeys. Bill raises an eyebrow at him, challenging--always pushing and demanding and fighting for ground--and Mike shifts forward to sit on the edge of the bed, his knees framing Bill.

Mike fumbles to open his shorts with one hand, tracing the back of the other along Bill's jaw. "You really can't wait?"

"I came here to record music and have sex." Mike arches his hips up and shoves his shorts down out of the way, and Bill turns his head to bite his thigh. "And the studio has kicked us out for the day."

"You're a slut." The words hang in the air, sharp-edged and dangerous. Bill looks up, meeting Mike's eyes, and there's a minute where this could tip either way, fuck or fight.

They really only have three settings: fight, fuck, or make music. No wonder nobody wants to put up with them for long.

Bill shrugs, rolling bony shoulders under the ugly tank top he always goes for in the heat. "You can have that one as a bye, but call me that again and I'll bite your dick off."

Mike wraps his hand around himself and strokes slowly, working himself hard. He takes his time, knowing Bill is doing the same thing, seeing it in the hitch of his shoulder and the soft line of his lashes against his cheek. Bill's breath huffs warm and damp against Mike's thigh, stirring the soft hairs and making his nerves prickle, sending sharp jolts of eagerness to the hot twist of want in his stomach.

"C'mon." His voice comes out rough and husky, almost choking on his own breath as Bill licks his lips and glances up. His hair is falling down over his face, feathery lines casting shadows. His face isn't as _pretty_ as he used to be; it's different now, more settled, more lived-in. He won't call it wiser, but there's the carving-away of experience, the fine shading of time.

Or maybe the changes are in Mike's eyes, not in Bill; familiarity breeding affection. Bill's mouth slides hot and slow around him, lips stretched wet and red to take him in. Mike bites back a groan, his free hand clutching at the sheets. Bill closes his eyes and hums around him, throat moving convulsively as he threatens to gag.

Mike traces his fingers around the tight rim of Bill's mouth, delicate flesh slick with spit. He presses his thumb against the corner and Bill's brow furrows with resistance. Mike presses more firmly, rubbing the flat of his thumb against his dick, until finally Bill relents and lets him push that inside, too. His lips are stretched tighter now, enough that it must hurt. His eyes close tightly and he flicks his tongue against Mike's thumb, acknowledgment and warning as he lets his teeth graze against him.

"Fuck," Mike breathes, sliding his thumb in deeper, stretching him just a little more. "Fuck, you just..."

Bill takes him deeper, and yeah, that was exactly what Mike meant. He pulls his thumb away, his dick jerking at the wet popping sound, and rubs spit along Bill's jaw. "Fucking hot."

"Seriously?" comes a sleepy drawl from the doorway, and this time Bill does choke, his hand coming up to guide Mike back away from him. "You just start without me?"

"Figured an old guy like you needs his beauty sleep." Mike leans back on his hands and watches Bill unfold himself back to his feet so he can go to Gabe. They kiss, deep and messy, and Mike feels a smug surge of pleasure knowing that Bill tastes like him, that he's licking Mike's heat and salt into Gabe's mouth.

"Fuck you, Carden," Gabe says when they stop, light and conversational like there was no pause at all. "It's rude to invite someone all the way across the country for sex and then withhold it."

"Nobody withheld anything." Bill's fingers curl in the neck of Gabe's t-shirt, tugging him forward toward the bed.

"And it's not all the way across the country," Mike adds. "It's not even halfway."

"If you start that again I'll kill you," Bill warns, and Mike throws his hands up, letting himself fall back onto the bed. His dick is hard and neglected and apparently Bill wants to make out with Gabe now, which just fucking figures, he always was easily distracted by shiny and novel and he and Mike have been here for over a _week_ now, thereby making Mike not-novel by default, and--

"Don't think so loud, Santi." Bill slaps him on the thigh with the hand that isn't holding Gabe. Mike glares at him but doesn't move, doesn't pull away.

"I think he's just sad that you stopped what you were doing, Beckett." Gabe moves in closer and kisses Bill's forehead, then catches his wrist and disentangles his fingers from his shirt. "Can't blame him. It was a nice view."

"If all else fails, he's got that one talent," Mike says.

"It's like you want me to either punch you or never suck your dick again." Bill sits down on the bed at Gabe's gentle push, then turns and moves to brace himself on his hands and knees over Mike. His eyes wander over Mike slowly, a pleased little smile curving his mouth.

He looks back over his shoulder at Gabe, and Mike can only imagine the grin that goes with that. "You are so transparent," he says, running his hands up and down Bill's sides. "Seriously, you're just...all out there."

"I am not."

"Bilvy." Gabe rubs at Bill's back like he's petting a dog. "You sent me e-mails with step-by-step instructions, dude. We know exactly what you want."

"You sent him e-mails? I didn't get any fucking e-mails."

Bill sits up on his knees, shoving his hair out of his face. "You don't _check_ your e-mail."

"You could send me dirty texts."

"Yeah, I'm going to leave those sitting around on a phone that could be lost or stolen."

"For the last time," Gabe says patiently. "You're not famous."

"I don't know why I thought I wanted to sleep with either of you." Bill goes to climb off the bed, pulling his shirt back down into place. "I'm going to go find a bar and you two can just..."

"Bill. Bilvy. Beckett. C'mon, man, you know I'm kidding." Mike stares up at the ceiling and lets Gabe take care of the petting and coaxing and persuading. He can fill in the blanks from the sounds they're making; soft wet kissing noises, that little gasp of Bill's probably says Gabe's hand moved south, the slip of his zipper, and then that rough almost-growl Gabe makes when he's being all in-control and shit. Maybe Mike should go to the bar.

"Mike." Gabe's voice makes him turn his head a little bit, looking over at them. "Mikey-C, give me a hand here, huh? Our boy's wearing too many clothes."

"I'm not your boy," Bill mutters. Gabe shuts him up with two fingers placed lightly over his lips, and Mike reaches out, tugging at the waist of Bill's pants until they slip down and expose tight gray boxer-briefs.

"Better," Gabe says, still covering Bill's mouth. "But let's see some skin."

Mike rolls his eyes and takes the briefs down, too. "Happy?"

"You're telling me you're not?"

Mike manages not to scream about the obvious, just gives Gabe a nasty look and then flops down on his back again.

"Oh, right," Gabe says laconically. "Santi's all blue-balled and cranky. You should probably help him out with that."

"He's always cranky." Bill turns again and guides Mike's legs apart, kneeling between them and shooting him a quick, fond grin. "That's how you know he's feeling creative."

"So when he's in a good mood, you don't get anything done?"

Bill licks along the length of Mike's cock, slow and thorough, and Mike's hips jerk as his body tries to go back to fully hard all at once. "Nope."

"Shit, suddenly your output makes a lot more sense."

Mike wants them to stop talking, very badly, but he can tell things are moving in that direction. Bill's licking him slowly, teasing, tongue swirling around the head and then dipping back down toward his balls, and Gabe is moving around behind him. Mike can hear another zipper sliding, then the soft thump of clothes being tossed aside, and then the click and slurp of the bottle of lube. Even if he'd missed all that, the way Bill gasps and jerks forward, every muscle tightening and eyes snapping shut, would tell him that Gabe had just pushed his fingers inside. Two fingers right away, just like Bill likes it. They both know that, they both know him. He's theirs.

Mike's never been much for sharing, but he can for this, for the way Bill's eyes close and his body tenses, the way he gasps a little and then ducks his head and takes Mike so deep, all the way, like he's frantic for it and suddenly can't wait anymore. Gabe's still working him open; Mike knows how long that takes, how patient you have to be to overcome Bill's resistance and get him to give in. He's bad at surrender.

Gabe moves with casual assurance that bumps right up against the edge of roughness, the same way he handles a guitar. When he's satisfied that Bill's ready enough, he leans in and whispers softly in his ear while he rubs his cock up against Bill's thigh. Bill nods, fast and jerky, his tongue pressing flat and hot against the underside of Mike's dick while his mouth slides over him with the motion. Gabe moves away and Mike closes his eyes, rocking his hips up toward William's mouth while he hears the drawer in the bedside table open and close and the condom packet tearing open.

Bill hums low around him, then pulls off, jerking him slowly with his hand while he works his jaw and takes a slow, shuddering breath. "Fuck. You..."

"C'mon." Mike knows he sounds needy, desperate, but he can't care right now. He needs Bill's mouth, his hands pressed close against his hips while he braces himself against Gabe's thrusts, the hitch of his breath and the way his face goes flushed and slack as he gets out of his head for once.

Bill moans when Gabe breaches him, his eyes clenching tightly closed and his teeth catching his lower lip. His hand keeps moving on Mike's cock, slower and more erratically, fingers clumsy and breath catching as he adjusts to the feeling. "Fuck," he whispers. "Oh, God."

"That's good." Gabe's voice is low and rough, sending a spark up Mike's spine despite himself. "So good, William."

Mike reaches out with shaky hands, tracing Bill's arms and shoulders, forcing himself to be patient, to not push or demand. Give the guy a minute. Don't beg.

"Okay." Gabe's moving now; Mike can feel it in the way Bill's knees tighten against him and shift with each thrust. "Okay, you know what you're supposed to do. What you...fuck, what you wanted. C'mon, baby. C'mon."

Bill makes a thin, broken noise and takes a breath, opening his eyes and meeting Mike's for a beat before he eases his hand away and takes him in his mouth again. He sucks hot and tight, hair falling over his face and clinging to the sweat on his skin. Mike reaches up and brushes it back, the lets his thumb slide along Bill's jaw to his mouth and trace the line of his lips again, testing it with gentle pressure.

Gabe's fucking him hard now, the bed rattling against the wall with each thrust. Mike can see Bill finding the rhythm, letting himself go, just moving forward and back, taking Gabe and Mike both deep in turn. He's losing control, slipping into the weird in-between state where he's just a body that feels and needs, nothing more. Mike almost envies him for it. Almost. He doesn't have a lot of room left in his brain for jealousy right now, or anything except for how good Bill's mouth feels, and how close he's getting.

"You're gonna suck him dry, aren't you?" Gabe's still talking, a low rush of words broken up in the same rhythm as the thumps of the bed and the rock of Bill's body. "Swallow him down. Fuck. Yeah. Or...or is he going to pull out and come all over you? Your chest and...fuck, your f-face."

Mike can see Bill's face, see his helpless, unfiltered reaction to each of those ideas. His hair's fallen down over his eyes again, and this time Mike doesn't fix it, just digs his fingers deep into the bedding and thrusts up hard into Bill's mouth.

"Take it," Gabe breathes. "You can take it, can't you...fuck, yeah, you can, so fucking pretty, so..."

Bill makes a noise that's either desperation or protest, pulling off and tilting his head back, gasping raggedly. "F-fuck you _both_ , Jesus, just..."

Mike groans and wraps his hand around himself, jerking fast and tight. He looks at Bill's face, red and sweaty and mouth all fucked-up and swollen, the line of his throat and the knobby curve of his collarbone, watching a drop of sweat run down. Bill's chest hitches again with a frantic breath, another rough noise escaping parted lips, and Mike can't help it. His hips jerk and he comes, splattering over Bill's skin and his own.

Gabe laughs, all smug heat, and reaches up to curve his hand against the back of Bill's head and push down. "Good work, baby. Now clean it up."

Bill licks Mike clean, tongue sliding hot and rough over sensitive skin. It's almost too much, and Mike twists and curses under him, fingers of one hand tangling roughly in Bill's hair while the other smacks flat against the bed, over and over again.

" _Fuck_ you, Gabe," he gasps as Bill finishes and turns his head to the side, pressing the flat of his cheek against Mike's stomach and gasping roughly as Gabe's thrusts get faster and deeper still. "Such a fucking _dick_ , God."

Gabe flips him off, laughing at him again. He's sweating too, his face flushed and his eyes dark and kind of evil, his free hand gripping Bill's hip tight. "You love it, don't lie. God, he's fucking hot, isn't he?"

Mike doesn't bother to agree with the obvious. He runs his hand over Bill's head, rumpling hair that's already a sweaty, tangled mess and then tracing down the back of his neck. "Sit up," he says quietly, and Bill manages to lever himself back up onto his arms, head bowed low and elbows shaking slightly with strain. Mike moves out from under him and around to his side, leaning in close and breathing warm against his skin as he reaches underneath him and starts stroking him off.

Bill's too out of his head to last long, coming all over Mike's fingers. Gabe curses when he does, and Mike knows Bill must have tightened around him. Mike moves back to Bill's head, holding out his hand for Bill to lick clean. Bill gives him a confused, bleary look and Mike has to laugh, wiping his hand on the sheet and kissing Bill instead, catching the noises he makes through Gabe's last, rough few strokes and orgasm.

"Fuck." Gabe slumps against Bill's back for a minute, pushing him forward against Mike, then pulls away. Mike closes his eyes and catches his breath, rubbing slow circles on Bill's back. He can hear Gabe moving around, hopefully throwing the condom away and turning the air conditioning up, because it is really fucking hot in the bedroom now. And sweaty. It's a sauna. And the sheets are gross.

"I like you guys," Bill mumbles.

Mike opens his eyes to stare at him in disbelief, but all he can see is the top of his head. After a moment he ruffles his hair again and exhales slowly. "We like you too, Bill."

"Don't know if I can go to the studio t'morrow."

"Yeah, you can." Mike looks up and makes a face at Gabe, jerking his head toward the bed next to him. "Don't be stupid."

"I think this is what I like best about you guys." Gabe lies down on Bill's other side and kisses first his forehead, then Mike's shoulder. "The pillow talk."

"Fuck off," Bill mumbles. "You fucked my brains out."

"Damn right." Gabe fist-bumps Mike and reaches for the remote. "Is there food around here? I'm starving."

"Fucking _told_ you," Mike says triumphantly.

"God, shut up." Bill laughs and shakes his head, looking up at them in sweaty satisfaction.  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Bar Closes (But You Don’t Want to Go Home)" by Aaron Smith


End file.
